My Heart Sighs: I Can’t Give You Anything But Love

I decided to do a series of posts about certain songs that . . . just do something to my insides. I don’t know if I can adequately put into words the feeling I’m given by these songs, but I’m going to do my best. Music is an important part of my life, and can generate such an array of emotions and there are so many musicians and songs that I love. These songs, though, are the ones that make my soul flourish. They cause an internal and beyond reaction, a sensation that makes my heart well-up and about burst. It’s an agreeable feeling, mixed with an ache, but one that I know will be soothed. . .some day. If you reference back to my post, Please Step On My Toes, you’ll get a bit of an understanding of the context of these songs for me. I have a play list of these songs, and I’ll go through them one by one, in no particular order.


First up, “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love,” written by Dorothy Fields and Jimmy McHugh in 1928. Like most older songs, there are quite a few covers and versions. The one that gets me right in the essence of my being is from 1947 from Django Reinhardt with Freddie Taylor on vocals. For anyone who may not know Django Reinhardt, he was a French guitarist most prominent in the 1930s and 1940s.

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Get ‘Em While They’re Hot!

I love to bake. I like to sort of, kind of attempt to cook. I like to mix beverages. So I thought, “Why not throw in an old fashion recipe once in awhile?” First up? Cinnamon rolls. And no, I did not go to the local bakery to purchase. And I did not get a pre-mix of dry ingredients. I almost always (98% of the time) bake from scratch. (I’m not a math genius. The 98% was pretty arbitrary. But my point is, it’s incredibly rare for me not to mix and do it all myself.) What’s more nostalgic than whipping up a recipe with your own ingredients and the muscle of your own hand? And beyond that, it solicits childhood memories of the aromas wafting through the house while my Mom would be preparing something you knew was going to be incredible. Something she made with her own hands. Grandparents and aunts coaxing ingredients into something unforgettable at family dinners. Again, their own, not store bought. And anyone who knows my Mom, knows cinnamon rolls are one of those dishes for which she is known. So it seemed like a good place to start. When I bake, I play music. And I dance. And I drink. I’m not saying you have to do these things, but I can’t guarantee your recipe and final product will turn out quite right otherwise.

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